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Continued from here.
“I bid six ‘twos’,” Theren
bellowed, his elf eyes staring directly at the almost waif-like man across the
table.
“But there are only five dice
left, Elf,” the man said blankly. Lord Easton Greymane brought a pale and
slightly malnourished hand across his face. “It’s impossible to have more of a
number than the total number of dice left in the game. Have you never played
swindle stones before? Oh, never mind, I call.” He lifted his other hand
revealing his set of four jade dice. “I have no ‘twos.’ You lose. Again. That
brings your total up to . . .” Easton looked quickly down at a piece of paper
on the table. “to two gold, Elf.” Theren scowled, his eyes narrowing
in consternation. “Double or nothing,” he added hastily. He was having
difficulty grasping the nature of this game in his current inebriated state. It
also was not helping that he considered the noble across from him as someone
less intelligent than himself and so was constantly trying to force the other
man into making a mistake. A mistake that Easton was far too clear headed to
make.
“If you are inclined to loss all
of the gold that Gundren has promised to you for this delivery then by all
means, lose it.” Easton answered. “But remember that we have other business to
attend to and I want to be well rested when we set out in the morning. Plus, I
will not just sit here all night waiting for you to comprehend something as
simple as the nature of numbers.”
“But we are still waiting on one
more,” Theren retorted. “Gundren said the transportation was a three-person
job. No one else has arrived at the inn in the last several hours. Not since
the dwarf,” nearly spitting the word out, “left to go on ahead and meet his
companion.”
“Well than you can wait up all
night for our other companion. I need to rest if I am going to be of any use
tomorrow. One’s mind must be clear to draw upon and conjure the arcane energies.
You should know this if you really are a druid as you claim.” Lord Easton
replied, his right hand making an arcane gesture. “If transporting some mining
equipment to a hamlet a day’s travel from here is a three-person job, then
Gundren knows something he didn’t tell us. I expect trouble and so should you.”
A loud smack echoed through the
near empty room as the door to the inn slammed open. A second later a
well-dressed figure pushed his meaty form through the door way. His deep brown
eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for danger perhaps, or a recognizable
face. His eyes finally settled on the stout figure polishing glasses behind the
bar. “Barkeep,” the human shouted, a clear tone of disdain in his voice. “I
seek Gundren Rockseer.” He said as he strode toward the bar. “I was to meet him
earlier today in this inn but I was necessarily delayed by a set of beautiful
blue eyes. Inform Rockseer that Lord Bentar Smakserbotom has arrived and then
poor me a pint of bitter.” Bentar turned to take in the other few inhabitants
of the inn, clearly expecting his order to have already been completed in such
short time. Bentar turned back towards the bar, surprise on his face. “Move
along man,” he ordered. “I’m not one to be kept waiting.”
“Bloody noble,” the barkeep
whispered under his breath. “Of course my Lord,” he said with obviously fake
formality. If Bentar noticed anything amiss in the barkeep’ manner, however, it
did not show upon his face. “Unfortunately, Gundren Rockseer already left
earlier today. If you are here for the job, the others are already waiting.” He
then pointed a finger in the direction of the only other patrons in the inn. The
barkeep pushed a pint across the bar. “Gundren paid for one round, and one
round only.” He the levelled an eye at Bentar. “Any additional drink costs
silver.”
Bentar examined the two
individuals thoughtfully. At the table sat an elf, wearing rugged and hardly
leather, deeply engaged in conversation with a slightly pale and underfed youth
barely old enough to shave. The youth was wearing an expensive and extravagant
black rode trimmed in silver thread. He grabbed his drink, careful to keep the
overly-headed beer from spilling onto his own fine doublet or riding gloves and
strolled towards the table. “Good evening,” he said interrupting the
conversation at the table. With an expectant air he continued, “I am Lord
Bentar Smakserbotom. I will be leading the travelling party tomorrow morning.”
He set his drink down upon the table and removed his riding gloves, waiting for
one of the others to offer him a seat.
“I know who you are fourth-born
son. I am Lord Easton Greymane. Second-born son to Lord Waxillium Greymane also
of Waterdeep. This is Elf,” he said pointing to the elf sitting across the
table and now staring ruefully at his dice. “Theren,” said the elf giving a
small incline of his head to Bentar. “Theren Wanakin, wandering druid of the
forest elves. And this one,” he nodded towards Easton, “is an ass.”
“A rich ass after your poor
gambling,” replied Easton. Turning to face Bentar for the first time, Easton’s
crystal blue eyes a stark contrast to his pale and withdrawn face, he added, “and
you are leader of nothing. We were all hired by Gundren and are under his
employ. He is the only leader of our party. As he is already gone on ahead, we
will all have a say in how things are run tomorrow.”
Bentar quietly mused. He knew
that with another noble in the party he would be unable to bully the group as
he could the commoners he normally dealt with, but he still felt the need for
some portion of command. His pride demanded it and he wouldn’t lose face in
front of another noble, especially not one with similar power and wealth to his
own. “Acceptable,” he said begrudgingly. “I will be driving the wagons,
however.”
“Fine. I am sure that you have had
plenty of experience driving such base beasts as oxen before. And plenty more
experience in a wagon.” Chimed Easton.
“Oh yeah, well,” Bentar
stammered. “I’ve slept with your sisters.”
Easton’s lips curled slightly
into a small smile. “You and half the lords and nobles of Waterdeep,” he chimed.
“If they could keep themselves entertained in a less scandalous manner then they
would have already been married off and become some other family’s problem. And
I wouldn’t have to spend my spare time taking odd jobs between semesters at the
University. Instead, they flitter away the family’s money. Here sit.” Easton
pushed a chair out from the table with his booted foot. “The Elf here is learning
the intricacies of swindle stones.”
The table chatter and occasional barb
continued for a while longer. After several more drinks for Bentar, and some
more bad dice for Theren, each companion headed upstairs to their own individual
room. All seeking the comfort of sleep and their own thoughts.
The next morning the Theren, who
himself managed to get to sauced to properly meditate, and Bentar were rudely
awakened by loud knocking on their doors from the matron of the inn. “Wake up,”
she yelled, slamming on the doors until she heard stirring from within, “your
rooms were only paid for until first light. Now you are on the inn’s time.”
Satisfied that she was causing the unusual guests some discomfort she continued
down the hall to Easton Greymane’s room. Hand raised and ready to knock, the
door swung suddenly inward before she had offered another call. Before her
stood Lord Easton Greymane, in a fine riding robe and already fully packed and
prepared for the day. “Is breakfast ready?” he asked. With a scowl the matron
huffed, “breakfast is ready. Your wagon will be packed shortly. Gundren, that
lovely dwarf, has thankfully paid for our help in advance. But best be on your
way shortly, it will take the better part of the day to reach Phandalin and
deliver the wagon.” She turned quickly and headed down the stairs. Her quick
feet clearly indicating that she was upset at being unable to also wake up and
annoy the young noble.
Easton smiled and yelled down the
hall, “Thank you. We will be on our way shortly.” He proceeded downstairs and
out the door to inspect the wagon. Outside the two-story inn stood a wide wagon
heavily laden. The weight of the goods strained the wagon slightly, pressing
the wheels into the dirt. At the front was a pair of slow, but powerfully built
oxen. The stood ready, but silent, already attached to the wagon’s yoke. The
oxen appeared well trained and paid little attention to their surroundings, the
reins neatly tied to the seat of the wagon. A quick peak under a thick
tied-down canvas showed an array of drills, picks, lanterns and other metal
contraptions that Easton could not make out. Satisfied that he was, in fact,
transporting mining equipment and other necessary goods and not illicit or
dangerous contraband, he returned to the main room of the inn to partake of the
thick porridge the matron had prepared for breakfast and await his companions.
At the end of the table stood Theren. The elf was in the process of placing
various herbs and items into his backpack for the journey.
A loud thunk pulled the two’s
attention towards the stairs. It was slowly followed by another. And another.
Eventually, Lord Bentar Smakserbotom appeared on the stairs, clad in a fine
doublet beneath a set of heavy chain mail. His heavy footsteps, echoing
slightly in the stairway, were further accentuated by the tired and slightly
hungover look on his face. His middle-age showing in the creases of his tanned
face. Across his back he carried two long poles. One, ending in a sharp point,
was a perfect weapon to pierce armor and prevent creatures from charging. The
other, a heavy-bladed glaive, was designed to chop armor and split and crack
bones. Bentar’s body strained slightly under the weight of his armor and
weapons, but his muscled frame was built on a lifetime of such heavy burdens,
and once the fogginess left his mind, he would be fit for the rest of the
journey. Reaching the end of the stairs, Bentar lifted his gauntlet hand from
the bannister and swept right through the room and out the door, not even
pausing for breakfast or morning conversation. Easton turned quickly to face
the elf, nodding towards the door and both followed Bentar into the morning
sun. Bentar mounted the wagon, grabbed the reins, and gave the oxen a start.
The beasts strained against the weight of the wagon and slowly the wheels
turned and the party was off. Theren trotted out ahead of the wagon, keeping it
in range of his elf eyes, but ranging far enough away to warn the others of
danger if any appeared. Lord Easton, meanwhile, fell in step beside the wagon
and reached into his pouch for a book. He placed his left hand on the wagon, trusting
in the wagon to take him to the right place. He then began to read, appearing oblivious
to the world around him.
The road to Phandalin was little more than a swept dirt path through the forest, wide enough for a wagon, but offered little additional space. It was clear to the party that this road was well traveled, however, as deep rivets were worn into the dirt from years of use by other heavily loaded wagons. Although the occasional weed or overgrowth from the forest showed that the road had fallen into disuse this past year. Bentar directed the oxen into the well-worn rivets and let them take the wagon on the only path available to them. He then settled himself into the seat of the wagon to nurse his slight hangover. The sun began to rise steadily as the party made it way towards Phandalin and what everyone hoped would be a little easy gold.
To be continued. . .
